


Cold Case

by Shorina



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 02:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12973260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorina/pseuds/Shorina
Summary: Can you freeze to death in St. Marie's hot climate? Richard and Camille get a little too close for comfort to finding out for themselves.





	Cold Case

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acalmingcupoftea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acalmingcupoftea/gifts).



> Dear acalmingcupoftea,
> 
> could I include Richard? You bet! I stopped watching when they killed him off, he's the only inspector I accept for this show. So I was amazed he hadn't been nominated and I was wondering if offering to write everyone except from an inspector would even produce a match. Luckily it did! So I hope you'll enjoy this snapshot of Camille's and Richard's shared experiences in the middle of working on a rather unusual "cold case". Happy Yuletide!

Richard Poole studied the whiteboard in Saint Marie's police's headquarters. He was missing a vital clue, he was sure of it. There was a clue hidden on the board somewhere – but where? What was it that was nagging at the back of his mind?

He paced the room once, twice, which made his sergeant, Camille Bordey, throw him an unnerved glance that he chose to ignore. They were all worn out, their investigation had basically come to a halt and they were all ready to call it a day – all aside from the inspector.

Suddenly Richard stopped in front of the board and squinted hard, first at one photo of the victim, then at another. “Of course!” 

His colleagues looked up from the paperwork they had been dealing with, hoping he'd share his new insight with them, but Richard simply strode to the door. “Camille, we're going to the fish market.”

Dwayne and Fidel looked from Richard to her, but all Camille could do was shrug. Though she had to some extent become used to Richard's odd ways, she often didn't know what was going through his mind.

“Chop, chop,” Richard called from the door and Camille rose to her feet, grabbed her jacket and followed him out of the door.

“The fish market? Now? Why are we going there now? It's long since closed for the day.”

“Because it's where he died.”

“At the fish market?!” She sounded incredulous.

“Yes. Just drive. I'll explain it when we get there.” Richard climbed into the Land Rover, leaving Camille no choice but to get in herself.

“You'd better,” she muttered under her breath.

* * *

The fish market was quiet at this hour, the morning's catch long since sold.

“So?” Camille asked as she climbed out of the car and hurried after Richard, who was purposefully striding across the market.

“So what?”

“You wanted to explain why you think our victim was killed here.”

“Ah, yes. His fingers.”

“What about them?”

“Frostbite. He had suffered frostbite on some of his fingers.”

“And you know that because...”

“Because I've seen it before. I realise it's an uncommon thing to experience in this climate, but winters in England are cold, which doesn't stop people from being out and about without suitable protection against the cold.”

Camille nodded slightly, acknowledging his explanation. “But why does that lead us to the fish market?”

“For one thing, he smelled of fish. You said so yourself.”

“Yes, and?”

“Well, where do you find fish and temperatures cold enough to suffer frostbite?” He stopped in front of a large building.

Camille, so far focussed on her conversation with Richard, now realised where they had stopped. “Of course. A cold storage house.”

“Exactly.” Richard tried the door let into the large main gate. “Closed, of course.” He looked around for someone who might be in charge.

Camille instead walked around the side of the building where she found a side entrance.

“Camille? Camille!”

She poked her head back around the corner of the building and motioned for Richard to join her.

“That wasn't you, was it,” was the first thing he said when he saw the open door.

She rolled her eyes at him. “No, it was already open.”

“Good, good.” Richard strode for the door and knocked on the frame. “Hello? Police!”

No answer.

“Is anyone in there?”

Camille, as always more straight forward, simply walked in.

“Camille,” Richard hissed at her. “We don't have a warrant!”

She returned to the door. “We don't need a warrant to make sure everything is safe here. We found the door open and no one answered our calls. So we need to make sure no crime has been committed, like a break-in. Come on in.”

She didn't wait for Richard to reply but simply entered the building for good.

Richard hesitated a brief moment, looked left and right, then quickly followed her in.

They found themselves in a small office. Whoever usually worked here was very tidy. There was no paper strewn about the desk; the place looked freshly cleaned, too. At the opposite end was another door which led into a white-tiled corridor. Richard once again called out before entering, but like before he received no reply.

Further down the corridor he came upon the controls for a freezer room, right next to a pair of thick steel-doors.

“Ah, that must be where he died,” Richard stated, holding his hands to a window in the door to block out the light, attempting to peek into the storage room, but it was too dark inside to see anything. “Damn.”

“We should make sure nothing has been disturbed in there, with the place unlocked as we found it.” Camille reached for the handle.

“Wait,” Richard stopped her.

“What? If someone broke into this place, he might have left clues in there, or even hide inside.”

“I very much doubt that,” Richard said as he studied the controls. “But,” he found what he was looking for and pushed a button, “we stand a better chance of finding anything in there with the lights on.”

On cue, some lights flickered to life on the opposite side of the window, revealing it was frosted on the other side.

“Just how cold is it in there?”

Richard peered at the controls once more. “Refreshing minus two degrees Celsius,” he read.

Camille inadvertently shivered. “Very refreshing.” She zipped up her jacket before she reached for the handle once more.

“It's surprisingly warm actually. A freezer can easily cool down to, oh, probably minus 20 or 30 degrees Celsius.”

“Lucky us, then.” Camille opened the door and was met by a burst of chilly air that made her take a step back.

Richard mentally steeled himself, then pushed past her and entered the room while Camille hesitated at the door.

“Aha!” Richard called out a moment later. “Come look at this, Camille.”

She sighed but followed him in, instantly starting to shiver in the cold air. The door slammed shut behind her.

Richard looked up, aghast. “Why didn't you keep the door open?”

“Because you called for me to come in,” she said, already trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “What is it?”

Richard ignored her question and quickly walked back to the door. There was no handle on the inside. He reached out a hand to push against the door, but caught himself before touching the metal. Instead he leaned his shoulder against it, but the door didn't budge.

Camille looked on, worry creeping across her features. “Please don't tell me we're...”

“... locked in. Yes, it would seem we are.” Richard reached for his mobile phone. No reception. He held it as close to the window in the door as he could without actually touching it to the cold surface. Still nothing.

Camille tried her phone, but found she had no reception, either.

“What now?”

“Someone must be about somewhere. Even on Saint Marie people don't leave doors wide open if they're not in the vicinity.” Richard pulled the sleeve of his jacket over his hand and banged on the door.

“Hello? Is anyone there?” He called at the top of his voice, but the hall outside remained quiet.

Camille followed his example and also started banging on the door and calling for help. 

When they fell silent, Richard picked up a new sound. A low whizzing sound seemed to originate somewhere at the back. He walked around some tall shelves to explore and found himself facing an outlet through which cold mist was entering the room. “This is not good,” he muttered.

Camille had followed him. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“I'm afraid so.”

Camille wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. 

Richard walked back to the door and banged on it some more, then tried his mobile again. Still nothing. He turned to find Camille watching him. She seemed on the verge of shaking in the cold.

“Let's take a closer look at the walls. Maybe there are controls somewhere.”

“Or a panic button, for a situation like this?”

“Yes, maybe.” The two words didn't sound very convincing, not even to Richard's ears. “Let's look. You take the left side, I'll take the right.”

Camille nodded her agreement and they both set off to check the walls, moving stored fish and seafood on shelves as they worked their way further and further along the walls.

“Have you found anything yet?” Camille called when she was about halfway down the wall.

“No, you?”

“Only fish.”

“I'll raise you some mussels,” Richard said, attempting to lighten the mood, but Camille didn't reply.

They finally met at the back, close to where the cold air was streaming into the room.

“Nothing, you?”

“No,” Richard had to admit. “Nothing.”

“Then I'll return to the door, as far away from this,” she nodded toward the cold mist, “as possible.”

“Yes. Good idea,” Richard agreed.

They remained silent for a while. Richard kept trying to look out into the hall, hoping for a sign of life on the other side of the doors, while Camille walked round and round in small circles, trying to keep at least somewhat warm.

She finally stopped in front of Richard. “I'm sorry.”

Richard looked at her with a mix of surprise and bewilderment.

“I let the door close, this is my fault.”

“No, I should have made sure the door remained open.”

They looked at each other for a long moment.

“When do you think someone will find us?”

“Fidel and Dwayne will come looking for us when we don't return.”

“And they can't reach us on our phones,” Camille added.

“Exactly.”

“Yes, they know we've gone to the fish market. They'll come looking for us.”

“... unless they've gone home” The words were spoken out loud before Richard could check himself. “Sorry, no. Fidel is too conscientious to just go home. Forget I said that. You're right, they'll come looking for us.”

“Yes...” Camille couldn't even convince herself of it.

“There must be something we can do to keep warm,” she said after another long, awkward moment during which they'd both looked anywhere but at each other.

“Well...” Richard began, but broke off without actually saying anything.

“Well what?”

Richard was getting really cold himself by now, the suit that usually made him sweat so much now proving too thin to keep him warm. And it was this realisation that made him voice his thought.

“Open your jacket.”

“What?! I'll be even colder than I'm now if I do that!”

Richard held up his hands to stall her protest. “We need to share body heat, and we can do that more easily with less fabric between us.” He opened his own suit jacket and nodded at her.

Camille frowned, but she was too cold to not be willing to try pretty much anything. “OK.” She unzipped her jacket.

Richard took a step towards her, then hesitated. “Now, we should...” He spread his arms a little and Camille got the idea.

“Yes, we should.” She closed the distance between them, their bodies now touching, and wrapped her arms around him underneath his jacket.

Richard hesitated another brief moment, then slid his arms underneath her jacket and embraced her.

“This really is a little warmer,” Camille mumbled against his neck after a moment.

“Yes, it is, isn't it?”

Camille pressed herself against him instinctively, straining for every bit of warmth she could get. After a few long and quiet minutes during which all she could hear was the hissing of the cold mist at the rear of the room and Richard's heart-beat, she looked up at him. “You're unusually quiet.”

“Yes, well, there's not much to say, is there?”

“Usually I can hardly make you shut up.”

“Yes, and usually you complain about me talking too much.”

“Actually I'd prefer it if you talked right now. Something to take our minds off this?”

“Ah. Yes, good idea.” But he fell silent again.

“What was it you wanted to show me in the first place?”

“What? Oh, there's some blood on one of the shelves, I bet it's from the head wound.”

“Shouldn't there be a lot of blood? Head wounds bleed a lot.”

“I guess not as much when your body is slowly shutting down, which probably led to him stumbling and hitting his head on the shelf in the first place.”

“You think it was an accident then?”

“The head wound? Yes. His death? No. I think someone locked him in here on purpose.”

They both shut up.

“Sorry, that didn't work too well for taking our minds off the situation.”

“No,” Camille admitted. “But thanks for trying.”

Richard finally looked at her. “You're welcome.”

“So,” Camille started after another long silence, “how cold does it get in England?”

“Very much depends on where you go. And the kind of winter we're having. London is usually warmer than the countryside.”

“How warm?” Warmth sounded good. Camille wanted to hang on to the thought.

“In winter?”

“Yes. No. In general. How warm does it get in London?”

Richard thought about it. “I think the record stands at 35 or 36 degrees.”

“Then why are you always complaining about the temperature here?”

“Because,” Richard explained, “to an Englishman such temperatures are not normal. Everyone complains when there's a heatwave going on. But at least in England they end, whereas here it's hot all the time.”

“Go on,” she urged him.

“About what?”

“Heat.” She hid her face against his neck again, seeking more warmth.

“What's there to say about it? It's a hassle. It's unnerving. People get cranky. More electricity is needed because everyone is running air conditioning units or fans in an attempt to stay cool.”

Camille didn't reply this time. She didn't want to move.

“Camille? Camille.” Hesitantly he rubbed her back. “It's OK. They'll be here any moment.”

She managed to convey a small nod against his neck.

“Right. Heat. I remember one summer holiday when it was really hot. Sweltering heat, plenty of moisture in the air, too. There was this huge thunderstorm and lightning struck a tree close to our camper van... the clap of thunder probably was the loudest thing I've ever heard. Or maybe it was the sound of the tree being split in half, now that I come to think of it.”

“How old were you?” Richard felt her breath against his skin as she spoke.

“Oh, seven or eight.”

“That must have been scary.”

“Yes, I guess it was. Funny, I don't really remember how I felt about it. I only remember this blinding light coming in through the van's window practically the same moment the thunder cracked.”

Camille managed a small chuckle. “So you've always been this bad with emotions?”

“Yes, well. I'm an Englishman. It's the way we are. We're not hot-blooded like the people here.”

“But – is there nothing you burn for?”

“Burn for?”

“Yes. Something you're passionate about.”

Richard thought for a moment. “Well, I guess...” Suddenly he turned his head. “What was that?”

“No, you're not going to change the subject now,” Camille complained, but Richard disentangled himself from her and turned to look at the door, then stepped closer.

Camille bit back a whimper and wrapped her jacket tightly around her, missing Richard's warmth already.

“Hey!” Richard yelled, then banged on the door. “We're in here!”

Now Camille heard it, too. Steps! “Help!” She shouted.

And then a face appeared at the window and stared at them wide-eyed before the door was opened.

“Bloody hell, what are you two doing in there?!” The man who had opened the door seemed baffled to find them in the freezer.

Richard reached into his pocket for his badge. “Police.”

The man squinted at the badge, then looked at Richard again. “Doesn't answer my question.”

“I'll be happy to answer any questions you have if we can just get out of here,” Camille said and pushed past the man.

“Actually,” Richard immediately went back to work-mode now that the immediate danger of freezing to death had been averted, “I have some questions myself. But,” he relented as he saw Camille's urgent nodding towards the office at the end of the corridor “we can deal with those in your office.”

The man looked from Richard to Camille and back, shook his head and closed the big steel-door. “You're lucky I came to check the controls one last time and saw the light was on inside.” He checked the controls, turned off the light in the freezer room and headed towards the office. “Come on, then.”

Richard and Camille followed him and once they had entered the office, Camille visibly relaxed. The room was warm and she took off her cold jacket to allow the warm air to reach her skin.

“How long have you been in there?”

“Too long–“  
“A while–“

Richard and Camille spoke at the same time, then stopped when they realized it.

“Let me put a coffee on for you to warm you up and you tell me what you were doing in my freezer.” He turned to busy himself with a coffee machine sitting on a low shelf.

Richard started to say coffee wasn't necessary, but Camille's elbow nudging his side in a not very gentle fashion shut him up. Instead of speaking, he eyed her in surprise.

“That's very kind of you, Mr...” Camille said.

“Vanier. Daniel Vanier,” the man said over his shoulder.

“Very well, Mr. Vanier, you're the owner of his facility?” Richard was all business.

“Manager,” Vanier corrected him. “The company is based in Guadeloupe, I run this place but I don't own it.” He turned. “So what brought you into our freezer room?”

“Crime. Murder, actually.”

“Murder?!”

Richard asked some more questions and finally accepted a thin but hot coffee. The sensation of the hot beverage running down his gullet to his stomach was rather pleasant and managed to fight some of the remaining chill, he had to admit. As for the taste, he tried not to think about how awful it was. Instead he pressed on with his line of questioning.

Vanier didn't recognize their victim when shown a photo, and Richard believed him, there was not even the slightest flicker of recognition in Vanier's eyes.

“Who else has access to the freezer room?”

“A couple of employees. It depends on when, really. When we're open and doing business, you can add a number of restaurant chefs to the list who come in to chose their wares.”

“What about when you're closed?”

“Well, that would narrow it down. Only two employees have keys to the facility.”

“We'll need their names, addresses and other contact information.”

“Of course. As soon as you show me your warrant you can get that information.”

“Ah.”

“Don't tell me you went into my freezer without a warrant?” Vanier cocked an eyebrow at them.

Camille, by now feeling like a human being again, quickly gave her little speech she'd given Richard when she'd entered.

“Yeah, I was seeing off the last customer of the day, didn't bother to lock up as the place is real quiet at this time of day. I guarantee you there's been no break-in.”

“But we couldn't know that,” Camille stated.

Vanier's look said he didn't really buy her story. “I can't give you my employees' details without a warrant.”

“Of course not. We'll be back with the warrant as soon as possible. Where can we reach you if you're not here?”

Vanier handed Richard a business card. “My mobile number's on there.”

“Right.” Richard looked at Camille. She nodded and they both headed for the door. 

“Thank God he can't prove we didn't enter to check for a break-in or we'd stand no chance of a warrant,” Richard muttered.

“As you said, he can't.”

They walked back to the Land Rover and Richard reached for his phone. The battery was low, it probably hadn't liked the cold temperatures on top of unsuccessfully trying to find a signal. Still, the remaining power should be enough for one last call. He dialled the number of the station and was relieved to hear Fidel's voice.

“Fidel. We need a warrant for,” he looked at the card and read off the company's name. And make it ur–“ the line went dead as his battery died with one last beep. “–gent. Damn.”

“He's smart. He understood.”

“Better make sure. Give me your phone.”

“I can call him,” Camille protested, not wanting to hand over her phone.

“You drive, I'll call Fidel.”

Camille reached for her phone, but instead of handing it to Richard, who already held out his hand for it, she tapped on the screen and held it to her ear.

“Fidel?”

“Give him to me,” Richard hissed, trying to reach for the phone, but Camille batted his hand away.

“Yes, his battery went flat. He only wanted to tell you to take your time anyway.”

“What?!”

At that point Camille burst out laughing, then she held her phone out to Richard. “My battery's flat, too, it died while we were still in the office.”

“You...” Richard tried to think of a suitable expression, but then decided against an insult, “... drive. To the station.”

“And I was looking forward to going home for a hot bath,” she sighed.

“It's always good to have something to look forward to, Camille.”

“And what are you looking forward to? A hot tea?”

“It'd be a vast improvement over Mr Vanier's coffee.”

* * *

During the drive back to the station, Camille remembered something. “You never answered my question.”

“Hm? Which one?”

“What do you burn for?”

“Nothing,” Richard replied a little too fast.

“Liar. You started to say something earlier, when we were in the freezer.”

“Cold storage,” Richard corrected automatically.

“Well, I was past cold, I was freezing. But you're trying to distract me from my question. What was it you were going to say?”

“I don't remember.”

“Then think about it now.”

Richard sighed. “Don't you think we have more important things to consider right now?”

“You're still trying to change the subject.”

“Yes, all right, I admit I am trying to change the subject.”

“It's not working.”

“No, apparently not.”

“So?”

“You'll laugh.”

“I promise I won't.”

Richard eyed her.

“I promise,” she repeated. “Now tell me.”

“A good puzzle. I love solving puzzles.”

Camille tried, she really tried, but as she pulled up in front of the station, she burst out laughing anyway. “A puzzle? You burn for a puzzle?”

“I knew you'd laugh.” Richard scowled at her. “Maybe 'burn for' is the wrong word, but I like puzzles. Crimes are just that, puzzles. You construct your case piece by piece, just like a puzzle, until you have the whole picture spread out in front of you.”

“So ultimately you're telling me you burn for your job.”

“Yes. Yes, I guess I do. To some extent. I still think 'burn for' is too strong...”

“It's just an expression! Stop over-analysing it!”

Richard actually shut up, but still scowled.

“If it makes you feel better, there's nothing wrong with liking your job.”

“Exactly. Thank you.” Richard opened the passenger door and climbed out, heading for the station.

Camille also got out of the Land Rover and, before Richard could enter the building, called after him, “but that's no excuse for not having a life outside work!”

**Author's Note:**

> This description of the effects of the chilly experience is probably scientifically incorrect to some extent, but let's call any falsehood artistic licence.


End file.
